


Breaking a Fast

by zarahjoyce



Series: Deeply, Madly, Stupidly [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU where Jon is King, Crack, F/M, Fluff, cranky!jon, idek what this is, lord help us, there is no sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 15:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18803557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: "The Lady of Winterfell looks after all and everyone in their castle; in return he has taken it upon himself, as his duty, to look after her the best he can.Which should start with her breaking her fast.Beside him."aka Jon pouts while waiting for Sansa and Tormund notices, as one does.





	Breaking a Fast

It's not the first time that she draws his gaze - and thoughts - away from anything in the world the very moment she enters the room he's in.  
  
He exhales slowly, waiting for the moment she meets his eyes in greeting and--  _there!_  She gives him a subtle nod, and he responds adequately; he thinks there's nothing at all untoward in the way he straightens himself, as if mentally preparing for the moment she sits by him. Glancing at her side of the table and finding everything in order, he looks at her again - but lo, she seems to have been waylaid by Ser Davos, of all  _people!_  

And Jon can't keep the grimace off his face, already thinking about speaking to His Hand and explaining fully well the importance of the Lady of Winterfell breaking her fast with him  _before_ having any sort of business with people other than himself.

It is important, after all.  _She_  is important. The Lady of Winterfell looks after all and everyone in their castle; in return  _he_ has taken it upon himself, as his duty, to look after her the best he can.  
  
Which should start with her breaking her fast.   
  
Beside him.  
  
_Of course._  
  
To his relief Ser Davos nods and goes on his way, and Sansa glances at the table - at  _him_ \- and Jon does his best to look not at all impatient and waiting, but actually just a tiny bit over-invested in the food he's about to partake. Odd that it looks most appetizing when she's eating with him, when she leans in just the tiniest bit to ask how he's slept the night before, when she covers her mouth and laughs because of something idiotic he's told her and--  
  
Lady Brienne gets Sansa's attention, making her pause again.  
  
Jon frowns in a way he hopes does not  _at all_  resemble a childish pout.  
  
Perhaps he should talk with Lady Brienne, too. As a fellow warrior,  _she_ should also be aware of just how important nourishment is, and how it is worlds easier to actually think and act with a bellyful of food. Gods,  _this_ was something primal, not at all something needing to be taught!  
  
He scratches his beard, quietly watching as the two ladies converse. Or, as quietly as he can without making too much growling noises, for which he thinks he can say are because of his own  _hunger_. Because he hasn't yet eaten his breakfast. Because the Lady of Winterfell has yet to sit beside him.  
  
Because people kept getting between them, right this very moment.  
  
Perhaps, he thinks, he should decree that such a thing can be punishable by death.   
  
Or, he thinks again, more kindly this time, perhaps not.  
  
A heavy hand claps his shoulder, making him-- well, certainly  _not_ jump in his own seat, but something  _close_ to it. He glances up in time to see Tormund grinning down at him. "Isn't it too early in the fucking morning for you to be pouting?"  
  
"I wasn't--" he started to say, but the wildling claps his shoulder again before leaning just a  _little_ bit closer than comfortable.  
  
"It's pathetic," Tormund says. "Not at all a good look for someone mad enough to ride  _dragons_."  
  
Jon coughs into his hand. "I  _told you,_  I wasn't--"   
  
"No?" Tormund asks. "Could've sworn you were. It's the lips, you see, all pretty pursed and pouty."  
  
Jon straightens in his seat. "I'm  _not_ \--"  
  
The wildling uses his cup to point at him. "Don't even bother lying. You  _were_." He then drags Sansa's chair closer so he can sit directly next to Jon. "Piece of advice? You really should just--"  
  
"--marry her?" he says quietly. "Wake up next to her every morning? Walk hand in hand with her when we enter the Great Hall?"   
  
Tormund blinks. "Well I was about to say 'have your breakfast alone with the girl,' but you do you, boy."  
  
Well.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
Jon stares at him, a bit confused and disappointed, really, because Tormund's advice isn't at all as  _filthy_ as he'd imagined - or wanted. "I thought--"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I thought you'll be saying something along the lines of-- I don't know--" He stutters a bit before ending bravely with, " _fucking_."  
  
Tormund laughs long and loud. "That can come before or after, boy. Maybe even before  _and_ after, if you're lucky." He then waggles his eyebrows at him and leaves.  
  
Just in time, it turns out, because Sansa herself finally reaches their table and sits at her place by his side which, thanks to Tormund, ends up a lot closer to him than before. "What are you two laughing on about?" she asks, smiling.  
  
Jon smiles right back at her. "Nothing," he says. "Just talking about how breakfast  _is_ the most important meal of the day, that's all."


End file.
